


Our Gentle Sin

by celli



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: “You know, I’ve been to your bookshop loads of times,” Crowley said, watching a small child and calculating how soon it would throw a tantrum, “but you’ve only been to my place last night, and that hardly counts since we were busy with the--.” He waved a hand between them.“Of course I have,” said Aziraphale, affronted. “I mean, there was... or that time when... oh dear.” His offended look turned sheepish.Crowley huffed out a laugh, then set off down the pavement.“I - I suppose there’s no time like the present?” Aziraphale called after him.Crowley turned slowly. “Really?” he asked. He flicked a glance Upwards, then caught himself and smirked. “Right. Well, come on, angel."





	Our Gentle Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [out_there](https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/gifts).

> Love and thanks to everyone who audienced, especially misbegotten and out_there, to out_there and missmollyetc for beta, and to kisatsel for beta and Britpick work.

“I can’t wait to get back and see all my books again,” Aziraphale said as they left the Ritz. It was a little shock, still, to Crowley, how the humans all wandered by, shouting into mobiles or holding hands and chatting, as though the world hadn’t teetered on the brink of ending just a short while ago.

“You know, I’ve been to your bookshop loads of times,” Crowley said, watching a small child and calculating how soon it would throw a tantrum, “but you’ve only been to my place last night, and that hardly counts since we were busy with the--.” He waved a hand between them.

“Of course I have,” said Aziraphale, affronted. “I mean, there was... or that time when... oh dear.” His offended look turned sheepish.

Crowley huffed out a laugh, then set off down the pavement.

“I - I suppose there’s no time like the present?” Aziraphale called after him.

Crowley turned slowly. “Really?” he asked. He flicked a glance Upwards, then caught himself and smirked. “Right. Well, come on, angel."

* * *

With time to actually explore the flat, Aziraphale was unnervingly thorough. He was fascinated by Crowley’s plants. “Well, aren’t you the most marvelous thing,” he said, delighted, to Crowley’s least favorite rubber plant. It fluttered its leaves at him. Crowley sighed. There would be no reasoning with them now.

Aziraphale continued to look around, eyes bright and wide. It occured to Crowley belatedly that he had never invited anyone else in, and frankly he was starting to feel a little itchy around the wings from the attention. He cleared his throat. “Wine?” he asked stiffly. “Takeaway?” (He’d never actually ordered takeaway, but he had a vague idea of the process.)

“Hm?” said Aziraphale, a bit distantly. He was looking at some of Crowley’s art. Crowley realized he was walking down the corridor towards one, ah, prominently displayed statue in particular, and started following him a bit faster. “Ah, that’s Good wrestling Evil…” he began, speaking rather quickly.

But Aziraphale kept walking past _that_ statue and continued down the corridor. Crowley followed him.

Aziraphale came to a slow stop in front of the statue of an eagle. The human parts of Crowley started to sweat a little.

“I’ve seen this before,” Aziraphale said. He’d gone slightly more pale than his usual quite pale. “Where have I seen this before?”

“Oh, you know religious iconography,” Crowley babbled, shifting from foot to foot. He realized he was behaving as though his flat was sacred ground and forced himself to stop. “It’s all from the collective unconscious in the end anyway, isn’t it? But really, Thai? Sushi? Bourbon?”

“The church,” Aziraphale said. Crowley took a few steps back. “The church you bombed.”

“If you want to be specific, the church the Nazis bombed,” Crowley said. Aziraphale said something under his breath, but Crowley couldn’t make it out. “I went back later,” for the holy water that had evaporated, he didn’t want to say, “and the thing was still there, looking like - well, like someone had miracled it safe. What was a demon to do?”

“Not my miracle,” Aziraphale said, turning to face Crowley.

“Well, not mine either,” he snapped. “What’s your point?”

“Oh, Crowley, shut up,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley blinked at him. “I’m just going to try something, all right?”

He walked directly at Crowley, and Crowley held his ground, bracing for some sort of divine lightning or the sudden reappearance of a flaming sword.

Aziraphale lifted his chin and pressed his mouth to Crowley’s.

Crowley froze - until Aziraphale started to move back, then Crowley grabbed his face in his hands and kept him still. Aziraphale made a pained noise in the back of his throat; Crowley made an effort to gentle his hands, rubbing his thumbs against Aziraphale’s cheeks, and finally remembered to kiss him back. 

He felt Aziraphale’s hands slide to his shoulders, and allowed the angel to push him back until he was flush to the nearest wall. Aziraphale stopped kissing him, and Crowley forced himself to drop his hands. His temporary despair, though, was transformed into something else entirely when Aziraphale turned his face into Crowley’s neck and kissed his throat.

“What are you _doing_?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale raised his head. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright. “My dear demon,” he said. “All these millennia and you can’t guess?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You asked--” Aziraphale started, but Crowley kissed him again, which worked beautifully. He snapped his fingers and they fell into a bed two rooms over that Crowley only used on the rare occasions when he wanted to take on the human habit of sleeping. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, breaking the kiss to look down at Crowley. “Hello there.”

“Hello,” Crowley said, trying not to look as thoroughly charmed as he was.

Aziraphale kissed him again, then shifted back to start undoing Crowley’s shirt buttons.

Crowley watched Aziraphale give the buttons his full attention. “You know you could just -" he gestured, “- them off, right?”

“Undoubtedly,” Aziraphale said, and when he looked up at Crowley through his lashes, Crowley’s heart turned over painfully at the combination of joy and mischief in his eyes. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Just to be a bastard, and to do something besides stare besottedly, Crowley snapped his fingers. Aziraphale’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt slid open all at once. Aziraphale looked a little disappointed, but Crowley slid a hand inside his shirt - and with a sigh, tugged up his undershirt and got his hand on warm skin - and suddenly the bright look in Aziraphale’s eye was back.

“We all have our own fun,” Crowley said, stroking the soft skin of Aziraphale’s side.

“Far be it from me to stop you,” Aziraphale said.

“Well then…” Crowley said and snapped his fingers again. All of Aziraphale’s clothing from the waist up, including that tartan bow tie, vanished. At Aziraphale’s concerned look, they appeared across the room, neatly folded.

Crowley lifted his other hand to Aziraphale and ran them up his sides. “I’ve always been on, you know, My Side when it came to this,” he said. “Fast and hard and filthy.”

“Well, I’d definitely like to try it your way,” Aziraphale said. “But perhaps, just this once, we could be--” He cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

“--gentle,” Crowley said, the word nearly torn out of him.

“That’s it exactly, my dear,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley offered up his mouth to be kissed. The rest of their clothes didn’t so much vanish as just melt away; he wasn’t sure whose thought drove it, his or Aziraphale’s. Or both, maybe. The idea made his wings shiver.

They kissed for a long time, rocking gently against each other as their hands wandered, and Crowley tried to hold out, he really did. Something about Aziraphale’s quiet assurance, though, and the way he covered Crowley with his body, the firm pressure of his hands against Crowley’s skin, was overwhelming in all the best ways.

“I never thought this would happen,” he caught himself murmuring.

“No, though I always dreamed of it,” Aziraphale replied in the same hushed tone.

“How long?” Crowley tilted his head back, feeling a thrill when Aziraphale kissed the base of his throat. “How long is always?”

“Days. Decades. Lifetimes.” Aziraphale kissed the skin over Crowley’s heart. “Always.”

Crowley couldn’t help it; he moaned and reached for Aziraphale’s prick. The angel let him, thank Whoever. He gave it a long, firm stroke, testing, and Aziraphale made a noise somewhere between a hum and a purr and rolled them to their sides to better curl into Crowley. Crowley grinned and buried his slightly bruised lips in Aziraphale’s hair. After a few strokes, Aziraphale reached down to stop him. Crowley hesitated a moment, confused. Aziraphale took Crowley’s prick in his hand and pressed both together. Crowley joined their hands together on their pricks, and Aziraphale sighed happily. 

Crowley drew their hands up for a stroke, and Aziraphale followed his lead. They kept it slow and quiet still. Crowley found himself folding in to Aziraphale. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “Come with me, my angel,” he breathed.

It was...it was just possibly heavenly.

Crowley opened his eyes when Aziraphale started laughing; a sheet of black blocked his view of the angel. His right wing, he realized slowly. He lowered it only to find Aziraphale lying in a sea of white feathers.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. “Do you think that will happen every time?”

Crowley hardly recognized the smile he felt on his lips. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly back at him. “Yes, please,” he said simply, kissed Crowley’s ear, and fell asleep at his side. Crowley brushed a hand over Aziraphale’s wing and marveled at many, many things before sleeping himself.


End file.
